Welcome to the Cat Parade (Snowfall)
Welcome to the Cat Parade Part four, Mission Two, of Snowfall. The Honda is more like a small minivan, with cream leather seats (slightly battered) and a basic car stereo. It’s been modified so cats can reach the pedals easier, which is a plus. I strap myself in beside Dynamo. “You have full control of the car stereo,” he grunted. “Only radio stations in English, please.” I smirk and fiddle with the dial. A Polish station blares out. “I have xenophobia!” screams Dynamo, slamming the button to turn the radio off. He then turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles into life. “I want Heart radio on,” says Windigo from the back. Dynamo snaps at him. “We’re having no radio today because ''Muffin ''here,” he sneered, “messed it up.” The car lurches forwards and veers onto the road. “Mission here we come!” I whoop. It takes half an hour to reach the first stop: a closed music store. “Always closed on Sundays, this joint,” chirps Neeheeoeewootis as he strides to the back entrance, carrying a pocketknife. Only he didn’t have any pockets. Dynamo trots after him. “Just flick open the grey box and cut the wires. Don’t stab.” “Windigo, disarm the door and switch on the lights once you get inside,” I order. Winding does a sort of paw salute. “Yes ma’am,” he barks. I smile amusedly. “Alarms disabled!” shouts Neeheeoweeootis. I try the voice-activated walkie-talkie clipped to my navy collar. “Snowpaw over,” I hesitantly say. “Snowpaw?” crackles Sparkles’ voice on the other end. “How’s it going?” “The rest are in,” I report. “I need the list for the instruments.” While this is happening I hear a vehicle pull up. It’s a blue Volkswagen transporter. Nice. “A violin, piano, trumpet, tuba, drum set and a xylophone. The others will recognise them.” “Kay, thanks.” I pause. “Snowpaw out.” A large brown tom jumps out of the van. “I’m Alex and I’m gonna watch this shindig go down and then watch the world burn. Inside there’s my badger-looking friend Hammy.” “We’ll be out with the instruments in ten minutes maximum,” I tell him before running into the store. It’s amazing how much the others have done: They’ve already got a violin and a trumpet by the back door, all safe in their boxes. Dynamo is guarding. “Smash the window and carry out the tuba,” I demand the two other agents. “Dynamo, help me disassemble the drum set.” Dynamo springs to his paws and leads me over to the drum set. “I’ll take the bass drum. You disassemble the cymbal thingies and get the cat outside to carry them into the van.” Dynamo nods and starts unscrewing stuff. The bass drum is fairly heavy, but eventually I manage to precariously balance the drum to the van. “Nice work,” smiles Hammy, who really ''does ''resemble a badger. Alex and Dynamo soon approach with the cymbals. “I’ll take the tom drum things. I can balance three on myself. Alex, help me with the others, and Muffin can take the snare drum.” I get to work. Soon all parts of the drum kit are in the van, with the tuba. And not to mention the xylophone too. “That was surprisingly quick,” I marvel, my eyes wide. “Snowpaw over.” “Are you done?” breathes Sparkles excitedly. “Yep,” I say proudly. “We’re just about to—“ ''Crack. ''The divice shatters into tiny fragments. I whirl my head around. I catch a glimpse of a russet head with a black ‘P’ on it. “Run,” I breathe. “They’re here.”